The Ogreborn
by becksbees
Summary: Shrek was a bit of an outcast in Morthal. Everyone was human and he was… well, not. He never wondered if there was more to his life as a mill worker, and never, ever considered leaving his swamp. Ever.


The Layers of the Ogreborn

Shrek was a bit of an outcast in Morthal. Everyone was human and he was… well, not. Living in such a small hold never suited him, which is why he stupidly spent his life savings on a house in the marshes outside of the village. He built it well. The roof only leaks when it rains, and the cellar is almost always infested with skeever. Shrek was proud of his home in the marshes. He affectionately called it his swamp, and enjoyed the solitude. Who wouldn't? All the village people ever talk about is the threat of dragons and vampires. Not in Shrek's swamp, though. He never wondered if there was more to his life as a mill worker, and never, _ever_ considered leaving his swamp. Ever.

Morthal Hold. Skyrim. 24th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

It was on one fateful day that Shrek began his walk from his swamp to the mill. He hummed a happy tune as slaughterfish nipped at his giant moldy toes, and thought about the rotting wood he would be cutting today. He could smell it from here. _Mmm._ Once the mill was within sight, he noticed a small gathering of people. He thought this was odd, and wanted no part in it. Before he could turn around, the owner of the mill- a stout Nord man with dusty blond hair and dusty blue eyes- called out to him.

"Shrek! You need to hear this, friend."

Shrek scoffed and approached the crowd. They surrounded a breathless courier.

"Tell him what you've told us," said the owner of the mill.

The courier took a deep, wheezing breath, "Dragons!"

The crowd was silent.

"Dragons have returned!" the courier said, more urgently this time.

"That's just folklore," Shrek told him.

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Helgen, in Whiterun Hold, has been burned, I tell you!" The courier pulled parchment from his satchel with sweaty hands and read from it, "General Tullius asks that all able-bodied men and women rise up to face the threat of nationalism and dragons-"

"Oh, so it is Imperial propaganda?" Asked an older member of the crowd.

"No, it-"

"And who's to say that's a bad thing?" the Redguard innkeeper asked of the elder.

Shrek snuck out of the crowd just as it became political. Dragons or not, he had work to get done. He didn't mind the soggy wood, and couldn't complain about the everabsent sun. He was bundled in layers (as ogres tend to be) of wooly tunics and trousers. The icy northern wind never seeped into his bones, in spite of his lack of Nord blood. Shrek knew he was different, or taboo, but he didn't let these thoughts distract him from chopping the wood at the mill.

The remainder of the day was normal in all aspects. People avoided Shrek, and Shrek avoided people. The misty rain turned into a heavy downpour as he walked home at the end of the day, tired and hungry. Just as he put a kettle over the fire, there was harsh knocking at the door. Shrek ignored it. The knocking became more persistent, more desperate. He chopped potatoes.

"Open! Up!" cried a distant voice.

Shrek knocked on the door in response. There was a shuffle outside, as if someone had been startled and stumbled backward.

There was silence, other than the rain and the distant cries of prey animals, that is.

After his stew finished cooking, a loud crash came from across the house. Shrek didn't go to investigate. He ladeled soup into a bowl with his hands and went to sit down.

"Woah. You're not a Nord." said the same voice.

Shrek jumped. The bowl of soup flew out of his hands. "WHAT ARE YOU DOIN' IN MY SWAMP!?" The soup fell decidedly on his head. Wiping it out of his eyes, he then saw that there was a meul in his house. He looked around and saw the broken window where it must have entered. But hadn't he heard a voice? Yes, he had definitely heard a voice. But there was only a meul here.

"I'm Donkey!" said the meul.

Shrek blinked.

"...and you are?" the meul said, drawing out the vowel sounds.

"Shrek." said Shrek.

"See, that wasn't hard, Shrek. You're an orc, aren't you? Yeah, I think so. Why don't you live in one of those strongholds? There's a bunch of them in Skyrim just full of people like you. They're big, green, stinky, and ugly- just like you! This place is a dump." Donkey said this all in what seemed to be one big breath.

"You can't just walk into my swamp and compliment it like that," Shrek wiped the spilled soup off himself, "and what do you mean, 'strongholds', anyway?"

Donkey hopped into the kitchen and went to sniff the soup. "Oh, yeah, there's loads of those. They're all brute warriors or whatever."

After a long and angry conversation with the new pesky leech in his life, Shrek decided to go find one of these strongholds of orcs. The next morning he told his boss at the mill that he was going on a trip, and he wouldn't be back for awhile. Shrek wasn't sure if he hoped "awhile" would be "forever" or not. Donkey helped him pack a rucksack of the necessities: onions, leeks, potatoes, gold, and a cast iron kettle. Shrek packed a couple snails to snack on for the road. The two of them took the road through town, into cold, icy mountains, around noon that day.

The roads were covered in snow, but the wind blew the warm sunshine into them. For Shrek, this was a terrible day to be traveling, or existing at all. They were only walking for a few minutes when the gloom of Morthal left them. Shrek missed it terribly already. Donkey trotted along the stone path with too much energy. He talked incessantly. He raved about waffles, told him that dragons were really back, and that horker stew was overrated.

It was dusk when the pair reached the first fork in the road. The weather worn wooden signpost was difficult to read. Did the right path lead to Solitude or did it say… Markarth? No, it said Karthwasten. The two argued briefly as the sun set and the icy cold closed in.

"Alright, fine! We'll take the right path!" Shrek finally gave in.

Smug with victory, Donkey led them down the path on the right. The sun made its final descent below the horizon, and a new problem divided the two. Where were they to camp, and with what materials?

"You said you packed camping materials!" Donkey shouted.

"And I did!" Shrek shouted back.

"You packed some hay, Shrek. Tell me what we are supposed to do with hay."

"Sleep in it!"

So they laid the hay on the snow, under a large fir tree, and went to sleep. Neither of them watched for spiders or thieves as the moons rose and fell in the sky, and night passed.

When they woke, their rucksack of food was gone. Their gold was scattered in the snow, covered in strangely large webs. More arguments followed. Somehow, they were to travel for another whole day before reaching their destination. The next fork in the road was just as worn and weathered, but Shrek was able to tell the difference between "Dragons Bridge" and "Solitude" this time. Donkey continued gossiping about dragons. Shrek was starting to think that he had a thing for them or something. It was becoming creepy, but he ignored it and let Donkey do the talking. Soon the talking turned into complaining about food. Shrek blamed Donkey for the loss of their rucksack, and Donkey blamed Shrek. It was during this argument that they met a traveller.

He was old and clad in iron armor. His mace was rusted and dull. Much to Shrek's surprise- his skin was green! Just like Shrek. The traveller greeted them with a slow and gravelly voice.

"See, Shrek, he's an orc like you!"

Shrek's eyes glazed over.

"I take it you are headed to the stronghold up the mountain, blood-kin?" The traveller asked.

Donkey explained that they were, in fact, trying to find the stronghold.

"I will take you there, blood-kin, in exchange for a favor."

"What would that be?" Shrek asked.

"After we reach the stronghold, you will find out."

Shrek shrugged and agreed to the deal. How bad could it be?

Few more words were exchanged as they journeyed to their destination. Donkey, however, still had much to say. His companions ignored him. They travelled through the night, hungry and tired. Finally, they reached the stronghold. It's walls were made of wooden logs, with modest guard towers.

"You have returned." said a female guard to the old orc.

"I have guided our kin," the old orc gestured to Shrek.

"Open the gate!" the guard called.

The three of them were met by someone who must have been the chief- he wore the most decorated and elaborate armor, and had a long, well-groomed beard. "And who have you brought to us, old friend?" he asked.

"This is Shrek!" cried Donkey gleefully.

The chief shrugged. "You are kin, and can live here as long as you abide by our laws." He then walked away.

"Settle in, and then I will ask you my favor." said the old orc.

Shrek then entered the longhouse and piled his gold in an empty dresser at the far end. As he turned to take a look around, there was a shuffle behind him- and a knife at his throat.

"Who are you?" said a strong, feminine voice.

"Shrek. I'm-"

"Why are you here?" she asked, pressing the blade into his skin.

Shrek was frozen. Why was he here? Just to find people like him? He did, but he felt no more fulfilled than he had before.

"Answer me!"

"I… wanted to belong." He answered.

She didn't respond. There was a long pause before the knife left Shrek's throat. "I can respect that. But no one ever belongs here."

Shrek slowly turned to face the voice.

"I'll never belong." it said.

Shrek got goosebumps when he saw the skinny, frail human woman holding a silver blade. "You're- different." he said stupidly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Until nightfall, I'm human. I only belong here when everyone is sleeping. My name's Fiona."

The two of them went outside together to find out what the old orc's favor was.

"Defeat me in battle." said the old orc, before pulling his blunt mace and lunging at Shrek.

Shrek was too slow. Fiona was fast. She pulled a shining silver dagger from the sheath on her hip, and sunk it into the exposed neck of the old orc. He cried out in pain, but still swung his mace at her. Fiona caught it with her free hand. With a grunt, she pulled the dagger out of the orc's neck. He crumpled to the ground with a disgusting groan, still gripping his mace like his life depended on it. Fiona struck him again with the dagger, and the orc was dead.

Shrek, dumbstruck, caught a fly in his mouth. The surrounding orcs applauded. Fiona wiped blood off her cheek and said, "So, you wanna get out of here?"

Shrek's mouth hung open, and Donkey answered for him. "Let's go make some waffles!"

The trio made their way back to Morthal, back to Shrek's swamp, back to the moldy soil and rotten wood. The townspeople still stared as they passed, but they were happy. So happy, they almost forgot about the dragons. (Although, Donkey did not…)


End file.
